Cloaked Lust
by KingInDaNorf98
Summary: After the War for the Dawn is won, Jon and Sansa are anxious to make their love known through marriage. However, there are a few complications along the way. Featuring a very kinky Jon and Sansa.
1. Chapter 1

Sansa had to spend some considerable time floating in the bath on her back, staring at the stone ceiling and letting her mind process the fact that Jon had asked to marry her. They had already made love countless times after the defeat of the White Walkers. She had been furious when Jon brought Daenerys to Winterfell and told her how he had to fuck her in order to secure her dragons in the fight against the Walkers. In order to prove his intentions, he took Sansa in the most blissful experience of her life. Afterwards she had forgiven him and now that Daenerys was dead from the war they could finally announce their love, but they still had to wait a few fortnights so as not to offend the remnants of Daenerys's men.

She washed her hair twice, groaning in bliss at the thought of sweet, shiny hair at last, and so clean and warm all the way through every pore on her skin was tingling she wrapped herself in a thick robe and went to her chambers, where one of the surviving Dothraki handmaids was waiting for her. She had the special skill of removing body hair with linen and hot wax, an invaluable trade given the practice was relatively unknown in Westeros. The pain was well worth the results, to be pretty and neat, and she would have done it for herself, though she had a lover now who would appreciate it.

After the woman had left with her heartfelt thanks, Gilly came in to brush her crown of hair until it shone in the crackling firelight and put it up in several small braids off her face, the rest trailing loose down her back. Now utterly relaxed, she switched her woolen robe for a lighter one of wine coloured silk, and slumped in a chair by the fire, her toes digging luxuriously into the thick carpet, glad to be ready for Jon.

Her friend drank a goblet of wine with her, probing for news of when the marriage was going to happen, and after her quick replies she got up and discreetly withdrew for the night, promising to dismiss the guards at the door, leaving her alone to brood and stare at the jumping flames.

She was three goblets down of Arbor Gold, and feeling rather dozy, when the doors to her chambers opened silently. Jon's hair was still wet and loose from the bathhouse, curling appealingly around his face, his eyes wide and soot black in the dim light of the cavernous room, and he was clad in only a grey linen shirt and breeches. She eyed him closely, from his tangled hair to his bare feet, her spirits lifting at the fine sight.

"Even your feet are pretty," she observed.

"How many of those have you had?" he said dryly, as he moved to stand over her lazy form, a picture of tipsy indolence that made him smile fondly.

"Three, thanks to Sandor and his raving of the benefits of wine," she replied, a grin lighting up her face.

"I could beat him bloody for making you become so drunk," he said, only half joking. 'Are you sure he isn't going to-?"

"Sandor won't force himself on me, Jon." She said sternly, and at his possessive look she had to continue. "You should know by now that he's a good man. I'm loyal only to you my love."

His eyes flared a little as it sunk in that their relationship would eventually be revealed to the North even though they still had to keep it relatively secret so as not to have the Northerners think Sansa dishonored or Daenerys' allies think he had manipulated her. After those thoughts flit through his head his mouth quirked sweetly. "You're mine," he said softly, but possessively.

"Do I turn you on that much?" she smiled, stretching out in the chair in a sinuous arch. "Do you want to have me tonight?"

"You look so beautiful I am scared to touch you and mess you up."

"If you don't mess me up, I shall be disappointed," she pouted, making him chuckle, and she recalled the boy he had been when they were young, so dour and subdued she had wondered whether he had ever laughed. He was not the same man now, and it was her doing.

To her delight, he sunk to his knees on the carpet at her feet, resting his head in her silken lap. Her fingers twined in his black curls, scratching his scalp lightly. He smelled delicious, like pine needles and musk and smoke. He was sniffing her as well, his hands fisting her robe and crushing the fabric into crinkles as he breathed her in. "I love your scent," he rumbled into her flesh. 'I love how soft and warm and pretty you are. I love you.'

She sighed in relief. She was an idiot to doubt him, he who wore his heart in out in the open for her and was incapable of lies and subterfuge when it came to his true family. She put her goblet down carelessly on the floor, and gently tugged at his hair to get him to look at her. Her hands slid to hold the sides of his face, her fingertips rasping the soft hair there, and she bent down to take his lips, tracing the plump shape of them with the tip of her tongue before she opened her mouth to his.

The familiar rush roared in her ears, the disorientating surge of want that she had never felt with another, and his hands were inside the neckline of her robe, drawing it back to free her breasts. She was going to tell him to strip, her usual thwarted urge to see him naked before she was, but she forgot in an instant, moaning as his lips dragged down her chest to take a nipple between them, pressing down with sharp teeth until it stood proud and pink, then moving to the other, the gentle tingle of nerves rippling down her belly to twinge between her thighs, which had parted to hold him to her.

Then her robe was falling away, the knot of the sash unpicked, and she was naked, a creamy white expanse of breasts and hips and cunt against the crimson silk. "Oh Gods," he cursed, his hand moving down her stomach to cup her bare mound of flesh, already slick with moisture, his deep eyes following the path of his hand. "This is so beautiful, and soft, like silk, fuck…" He was barely coherent, his accent thickening and stopping up his throat. His pale skin was flushing, and his breath was uneven and hot against her skin as he eyed her closely, just touching her very lightly. "Put your legs up on the chair," he whispered. "Let me see all of you."

Shamelessly, she lifted her feet from the floor, balancing on the arms of the chair, spreading herself wide for his mouth, whining as he dipped down for the first taste, his whiskers a sweet scrape against her sensitive flesh. His tongue was as light as a feather against her cunt, only delicately lapping up her juices before pushing inside to find her nub, very gentle, teasing it instead of probing and dragging.

She lifted her hips with a louder whine, seeking friction, but he would not grant it, his hands on her thighs to pin her down in the chair. It quickly became torment, keeping her mightily roused but unable to reach the release she craved, her skin tightening so she felt as if she was shrinking smaller, and she was so wet that her robe was saturated beneath her. She writhed and mewled, tugging at his curls in desperation, until he finally paused and looked up, his beard and lips soaked with her mess, his eyes pitchy and unfocused.

"Hold back," he breathed. "Try to hold back for me."

In the small space between their entwined bodies she noticed his breeches were unlaced, his cock as hard as stone and held close in his right hand, while his left still held her down, and she tossed her head back and sobbed at the thought of him touching himself as he consumed her. She did not know how long she could tolerate it without going insane, the heat between her legs and bursting in her mind, her teeth worrying her lower lip as he sucked all of her into his mouth, the friction inching higher, her legs jerking in small spasms, her breath heaving as if she was sprinting for miles.

Eventually she reached breaking point and pushed him away with a sharp cry, clamping her legs together to stop from coming. "No Jon…oh no, oh Gods…" She knew she would be calling on them many times tonight.

The warning throb died down a little, and she wrapped her arms around her belly to dull it further as she eyed him with some desperation, but her look had no effect. There was a distracted expression in his eyes, as if he was there with her, but not. She was picked up off the chair, a wet kiss on her puffed mouth that made her sigh, her robe stripped from her shoulders, and she was carried towards the great bed, its shadows swallowing her up as she was placed on the edge.

Freed at last, her hands snatched at him hungrily, yanking at his shirt front to urge it off, sliding his breeches down his slim hips, giving him no chance to toe them off before she was on him, her tongue swirling over the fat head of his cock before she sucked him down whole, her hands slipping to his perfect arse to grab great handfuls of it. He jumped and growled long in his chest, his fingers curling in her hair and urging her to take him all, her throat struggling to relax around him, he was so wonderfully hard and unyielding.

She slid back with a slow draw of her lips, her gaze tilting upwards to look at his face, so intent and dark with desire, his mouth hanging open, that it was both lovely and frightening. She worked him with her tongue as he had done to her, delicate jabs and sweeps where he was most reactive, making him squirm and sob in a stream of heaving breaths, tugging at her hair restlessly, twisting it in his strong fingers.

"Sansa, stop, please…" he finally begged her, but she kept going until she wrenched a cry out of him, thick and desperate and very exciting.

As she set him loose with a last kiss on the tip of his cock, she didn't even think on it. She moved, turning and getting on all fours on the edge of the bed, asking him to fuck her the way he longed to, for she wanted it too, and was no longer afraid what might float into her mind anymore, for she had trust. It was somewhat imperfect, but enough to submit, her head bowing down as she waited for his response.

There was a long pause, only the sound of heavy breathing, then a hand on her, drifting over the thick cheeks of her arse and sliding between them, opening her swollen folds with care, then a swallowed curse, a swift movement of breeches being kicked to the floor.

"Are you sure?" he asked her gently, and she replied with an arch of her spine, flowing into his touch. 'Tell me to stop, if you need to.'

Her hands grabbed onto the coverlet, taking handfuls of the slippery fabric, and she tensed her inner muscles deliberately, wanting to feel every solid inch as he entered. The sensation was indescribable; a bend of pain and pleasure and black, focused need that made her growl like a cornered beast, her skin quivering as she absorbed it, slow at first, horribly slow, not reaching far enough inside her to satisfy, her body moving backwards impatiently so the head of his cock hit the back of her taut channel, knocking at the entrance to her womb.

She muffled a strangled sound into the covers. The hands on her flanks tightened their grip on her, then moved her back down, her walls sliding closely along his length, dragging another rich curse out of him. She balanced on one arm, needing to touch herself to counter the warring sensations that were tying her belly in knots, her fingers gliding over her nub in practiced sweeps, the noises she was making quite inhuman as she curled into a ball under his movements, faster now, parting her flesh exquisitely with each thrust.

When he planted a foot on the edge of the bed for purchase, changing the angle of his cock within her, she lifted her flaming face from the safety of the covers and howled, no longer needing her fingers to drive her home, it was too damn good, too much, her bent body nearly breaking in two as he bore her down hard into the mattress, the pleasure now pure agony, but as sweet as honey, as sharp as a blade, the sound of him grunting with effort, muttering nonsense words as he used her harshly, sparking in her brain, which was a mass of light and dark, the two halves of her fighting until both surrendered.

Her eyes flew open as a deep pulse of release seized around his length and ensnared him, drawing him deep, but she saw nothing of the bed, or the room, or the covers held tightly in her fists, only stars in the blackness, then red; the red of blood, the red of her hair. She fell forward, the weight of his body holding her flat as she felt him come inside her, thick spurts of heat that trickled down her quivering thighs, marking her as his as he sobbed into her hair, his hands rough and pinching, trying to grab ahold of her sweaty skin as he collapsed at last.

She was stiff and uncomfortable, but had no ability to move, lying there as if drugged in a stupor, every pore of her skin gasping, the pulse still flickering in her loins rapidly, and she was not inclined to shrug him off, not this time. He could stay trapped inside her until he slipped out, or until he was ready once more. She wanted him to crawl inside her skin, next to her heart, and stay there, until death took them both.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa managed an hour at dinner with a thwarted ache in her loins, a slickness between her legs, and misgiving in her heart, and retired with grace, leaving Arya, Tyrion, Jaime and the Northern lords to drink and talk quite convivially. When she reached her chamber, and dismissed Gilly and the guards with her thanks, she poured some wine to sip, washed and primped, and waited, fiddling with the bottles and jars on her dresser, tidying them absently as she wondered what would come first, business or pleasure.

When Jon entered the room, it was as if he had the right to be there, instead of sneaking in as previously, and despite the hour being early and the higher risk of being noticed, he had shed some of his formal clothes, clad simply and lightly in a dark grey tunic. She paused in the middle of the carpet, her stockinged feet curling into its thick fibres, her eyes skimming upwards to land on the pulse flickering in his smooth throat, her lips parting at the urge to mouth it in a sucking bite.

The lust of earlier subdued all words as he paced, then circled her still figure, not talking, not thinking over anything other than how to get inside the gown he seemed to both love and hate. His eyes were glossy, absent, and dark, an earthy richness that pulled at her, took all her focus, a tingle burning down her throat to the shallow valley between her breasts, which were rising and hardening under the silk. Pleasure first then, thank the Gods.

"Take it off," he ordered her in a whisper.

"No," she breathed. "You take it off."

She sensed the edge, the glittering blade between their bodies, he would not go easy with her tonight, their mutual frustration with the world and each other leading to interesting results, biting and clawing, her body bent and twisted into a receptacle to absorb all that energy, and the prospect made her quiver from head to toe.

Slowly, her hands went to the neckline of her gown, her fingers hooking under the crusted white edging and pushing it off her shoulders so her breasts peeked out, her nipples nearly as dark as the fabric, causing a hitch of breath between his lovely lips. "This is all yours," she murmured, skimming over the small mounds of taut flesh. "All of it. Come take it."

He knew her, the instinctual, animal part of her by now, he knew how to drive her forward, drive her mad, what parts of her to touch, and how to make her melt like a candle. Her faith was perfect on that front, the rest could wait. This silent, subtle man, with his good heart, his utter loyalty and dedication, she truly knew what was hidden inside him, a darkness, an aggression carefully controlled, only let loose in fighting or fucking. She remembered how he had pummeled Ramsay's face in, and still grew moist at the thought. Everything about her was aimed to provoke to see it set free, and it worked splendidly.

A flash of brown eyes darkening to ink, hands squeezing her waist and picking her up like a doll, his face pressed between her breasts, suckling, biting, murmuring a curse, and sniffing, breathing in the warmth of her skin. Her gown rucked up in bunches as her legs circled his hips and she ground downwards against the firm length in his breeches, her fingers messing up his hair, searching and tugging it half loose from its knot. Her nipples were caught between his teeth and pulled until they were tender, then the upper curve of her left breast sucked at harshly to leave a red mark.

The slippery silk of her gown and her weakened legs caused her to drop to the floor in a slide, but she was turned about, her arm bent behind her back and marched to the waiting bed. She feigned a struggle, which invited a tightened grip on her, a grunt of effort as she was hoisted onto the mattress on her knees, the slither of heavy skirts pushed up over her head, smothering her in the grey fabric and leaving her exposed, naked but for the stockings tied below her knees.

Her arse was on display, fondled with rough, scratchy hands, light pinches near her openings where she was already dripping with nectar, the twinges of pain making her squirm and gripe. A rustle of clothing shed and tossed to the floor, a thunk of boots, then a shifting on the bed. She braced herself, expecting him to take her straightaway and relishing the prospect, but something else instead, his attentive mouth framed by his hands pulling her apart so he could see and taste everything inside and out, his tongue swiping from back to front in a firm sweep, landing on her nub and circling it to draw it out, his lips drawing the rest of her in so deep she felt every hair on his face scraping her raw.

Hoarse, needy moans welled up from her throat, muffled under her skirts but loud in her ears, her shaking legs spreading wider, her spine arching to increase the friction, a soft growl against her cunt as she filled his mouth with her slippery flesh, her unique taste, which he had told her once was akin to an overripe lemon, sharp but sweet on his tongue.

The pleasure spiked, she cried out as her loins throbbed in warning, and she shunted forward, trying to get away to maintain control, preferring to torment herself by holding off for a while. Mercifully, he freed her for a moment, one last drag over her nub before his mouth was replaced by his fingers, dabbling inside her teasingly, then pushing deep, the abrupt stretch countering the pleasure that had consumed her, hurting just enough to keep her safely on the plateau. Then he was toying with her back entrance again, spreading wetness there and easing inside more carefully, the unique sensation making her rigid, then relaxing as she was slowly opened.

"Ahh...oh Gods," she growled, ashamed at how much she loved to be touched there but unable to stop writhing and making noises of pleased distress. That thought, that urge she had felt in the bathhouse that had sunk into the recesses of her mind, floated to the surface. She weighed it, considered it carefully even as she continued to groan and move slightly to take his fingers deeper. She would deny him nothing, he would deny her nothing, and she could always tell him to stop if it was too much, and he would obey.

She sat up, flipping her skirts back down her body, his fingers slipping from her as gently as possible. She leaned back into his arms in a rustle of fabric, now thoroughly creased and annoyingly between her and his bare, hard body. She reached backwards to get at the tiny hooks down the back of the gown, but Jon stilled her hand, doing the tricky job himself with fumbling fingers, the odd nip to her neck as he worked.

"I thought you liked what I just did to you," he said in a low purr against her ear. She did not speak straightaway, instead leaned forward so he could pull the gown over her head and throw it aside carelessly.

"I do like it," she replied, wriggling slightly in emphasis, his cock a hot weight against the cleft of her arse as he pulled her flush against his loins. "I like it so much I want you to take me there."

"Fuck…what…" The hands on her waist squeezed in reaction, forcing the air from her lungs. She was turned around, blushing pink, her eyes evasive, but the hand grabbing her chin made her look at him. He appeared slightly crazed, his expression a blend of avid greed and unease, black eyes cutting through her, his mouth hanging open in shock, a slash of red on his cheekbones. "Are you certain?" His voice was as thick as fog, and raspy with it.

"Yes, of course my sweet Jon" she said coyly. "But if you don't want to try it…"

"I am afraid of hurting you," he replied, but he licked at his bottom lip, his gaze now absent and turned inwards. Her eyes dropped down, finding him so stiff his cock was a vivid red at the tip and sheened with fluid. Since she was already revealed as utterly shameless, she tightened her hand around him closely.

"I will tell you to stop, if I cannot bear it."

A flutter of eyelashes, the dazed look fading to resolve. "Lie back on the pillows," he whispered. "I need to see you if we do this."

She rose on her knees and kissed him briefly, running her tongue over his puffed bottom lip, and moved to lie down as instructed, nerves prickling and jumping as she settled and waited, both very tense and very relaxed. To fuck in such a manner had never appealed to her before, assuming it was something brutish men liked to do to whores, but this was very different. She was so aroused she couldn't keep still, and she ached badly between her parted thighs, so badly she flinched when Jon crawled up the bed and placed his hand over her swollen flesh.

There was no lack of wetness to ease his path, but his fingers sliding over her to gather it up and rub it over her back entrance made her squirm and buck and keen wildly, biting her lip, and then her hands clawing deep into his shoulders as she fought her climax hard. When he lifted her leg up and slid inside her cunt, she gave up and released with a sharp cry and a thrash of limbs, frustrated yet eased, her orgasm fluttering around his cock as he slowed and stopped, cursing and going rigid to fight the urge to follow.

His breath was in her mouth, his lips a tight seal as he withdrew and hoisted her leg a little higher, now slick enough to chance it, positioning at her arse and pushing one inch, then two, breaching her with a savage noise and a shudder as he tight muscles resisted, and yielded. It burned, and she whimpered at the pain, but then he pushed deeper, very carefully, and she spread her legs wider, opening herself up with a groan. The pleasure flowed through her in a flood of firing nerves which sent her aching to take more, though it still hurt, her limbs stiffening then slackening as both sensations fought with each other.

When he was completely sheathed inside her, he collapsed, trembling like a leaf, his hands on either side of her head, fisting the pillows with such effort she heard the tearing of cloth. She couldn't look at him, he couldn't look at her, his face tucked into her neck, as flushed as the rest of him. Her mouth was gaping, her eyes scrunched as she struggled to absorb the thickness, unsure whether to tell him to pull out, or move, do something at least. She struggled, trapped under his weight, mewling and helpless, and her tiny movements settled her down, her griping turning to throaty moans as the pain receded to nothing but a feeling of fullness that was so incredible her head felt as if it would burst.

Every part of her felt swollen, her lips, her cunt, even her toes, full with the inner pressure, too full. At last, he gained control of himself, lifting and bending her body a little so he could pull back and enter her again in one tight slide. Her eyes flew open and she screamed, a ragged scream, his hand flattening on her quivering belly to hold her down, then slipping to touch her, wet and spread open, his fingers delving into her cunt to fill both entrances at once as he moved, careful but deliberate, breaking her in slowly though he was fighting to resist the need to fuck her hard.

She had never seen him so tightly leashed, his face all hard lines of strain, his lids fluttering to hide his liquid eyes, sweat trickling down his creased brow, black tendrils falling loose. It was so intense, so fierce and shattering, that when she began to climax it took her by force, and then she could not stop. She was lying in a bed of flame, a burning pyre, delirious with fire flowing over her skin and under it, her cries tearing at her throat, her body fishtailing in spasms, her fingernails sinking deep and raking bloody furrows down his back.

He finally surrendered and took her harshly, each deep lunge in her arse, each circular movement of his hips pinning her to the bed, drawing the ecstasy out, like a thread that uncoiled and coiled and tensed, then snapped as her thighs and taut walls clamped around him, an answering cry wrenched from his chest as he fell forward again, crushing her as he came and came, as ruined and wrecked as herself.

Though she felt oblivion beckoning her into the shadows, she stroked him soothingly and murmured nonsense into his tangled hair, her legs twining around him possessively at every twitch inside her.

"I want to do this with you every day for the rest of my days," Jon rasped and Sansa smiled contently, rolling her hands through his waves of dark hair.

"Me too."


	3. Chapter 3

Jon's eyes opened but he saw nothing, the room was dark but for the glow of the banked fire, its rough stone walls and smoke grimed beams invisible. The body between the fork of his thighs was hot as flame, as soft as butter. He cautiously reached out and caught a sheaf of hair that slipped through his hand like a bolt of fine silk.

He heard a soft, throaty laugh, teeth nipping at him teasingly, right at the crease of his groin. His cock was standing proud, not fussy at all about the woman in his bed, some sorceress come to disturb his rest, sink her claws and drain the life out of him like a tale from the seven hells. He struggled beneath her weight, then groaned as her tongue licked a trail from groin to hip, red hair slipping down to tickle his balls, hands curling around his length to squeeze lightly. The tongue trailed back down, flicking at the head of him in a lazy circle. He'd never had a woman touch him like that before, with such delicate skill, and suddenly didn't care if it was a visitation from hell, he wanted to see where his mind would take him.

"You have the most beautiful cock," Sansa purred. "It fits me so well, it's no wonder I never want to leave your bed."

"I love you," he mumbled, his hand still carding through her copper hair. "I think the gods every day I met you again," he breathed, squirming as she cupped him and rolled his balls in her hot palm, lips descending to suck at his tip, then more of him, nearly all of him. Gods, he was so aroused it was affecting his senses. He let go her hair and tried to flip back the covers to see her, but his hands were weak, his eyes still hazy. He could only feel her and hear her, moaning helplessly as she popped him free from her warm, deep throat.

"I am yours, and you are mine," she whispered into his belly, her palms holding his hips, holding him trapped. He caught a waft of scent, sweet, flowery perfume and the tang of her cunt. Suddenly he wanted to bury his face in her folds and sip from her like a bee in a pink, open bloom. She would taste good, so good, his mouth filled with saliva at the need for it. "We said the words, you bound yourself to me, it will happen sooner than you think. You belong to me, you need me and I need you."

He was torn in two, between mindless pleasure and knowledge, his hands fluttering in indecision, but animal instinct took over, the need to grab and take and taste. Strength returned to him in a rush of blood even as she unmanned him by taking his cock in her throat again, reaching under the covers and hooking her lithe body up and around, a sense of pale supple curves, pink nipples, a veil of red hair and then oh, her bottom filling his palms, her bare cunt split like a peach, her thighs quivering as he let go all thought, prized her open and lapped at her hungrily.

She had let him slide free of her mouth so her cry of shock was wild and loud, her back arching, the covers gone and her lovely body on full display should he care to look, but he was too focused on the nectar that dripped into his mouth, the blushing, gleaming folds of her luring him into devour, making her twitch and protest like a maiden. She silenced herself by taking him down, her lips stretched around his girth, kissing the base of his cock as she expertly swallowed him whole. Oh Gods, the taste of her, what she was doing to him, the merging of his pale flesh with her snowy, perfect skin.

He lost all sense of reality, there was only pure pleasure, his hips driving off the bed to fuck her attentive mouth, his bristly lips closing around her nub to apply suction, his rough fingers exploring the taut depths of her cunt. He still wasn't used to this version of himself, this practiced lover that gave and took, his mind swirling with the possibilities of how best to end it, on her knees with her arse in the air, on her back with her feet flat against the headboard, completely open to his harsh thrusts, astride his hips riding him like a fierce queen. He wanted to see her face and know her as she broke into pieces.

As if Sansa had caught his stream of thought, she slithered out of his hands like quicksilver, her back to him, distant and unknowable, squatting with her tempting arse in his view. He could only grab her hips and guide her down onto his jutting cock, his body drained of strength, no words in him to beg to see her and hold her, to make her his.

As she took him in her body, keening as he pulled her apart and settled against her womb, her cunt squeezing him tight and making his balls feel painfully full and heavy, he knew he would lose all control as soon as that heaviness erupted into her too soon. Her bright hair he reached for like a lifeline, imprisoning it in his fist to hold onto her, groaning and grunting like a beast as she lifted and fell, lifted and fell, bent forward so he could see everything he was allowed to, her splayed petals around his slippery cock, her bottom jiggling sweetly, her noises savage and untamed, her grip on his thighs like iron.

She threw her head back and howled at the moon floating high above the bed, the castle, the wall of ice, her cunt rippling around him in tune with his thudding heart, and she drew it out of him like a succubus draining him of all his power, his body lifting off the bed as his cock emptied into her in fluid pulses, so blissful it was unlike anything he'd ever felt, every nerve firing within and without, the kind of pleasure that men would fight and kill for, and live for.

In the storm that broke in his mind with the release, his eyes closed and he sunk into blackness, a void of nothing, like being dead, but it was the kind of death that was warm and comforting, like floating in the embrace of a hot spring in a womb of the earth, waiting to be reborn into the world outside. He drifted for an age, not fearing it, not hearing the whispers of the Gods that left him in limbo, not feeling the seven blows into his chest and belly that had sent him into nothing, only the tingle in his belly and bones of a man well served and sated.

He awoke again. Under the mussed blankets his cock was at full attention, so full of want it was like to burst, and three or four thrusts and he would be spilling and shaming himself. He wanted to impress her, he wanted to own her, to make her his entirely so she would take him into her bed every night before more war and death and duty tore them asunder.

She was making little, hungered moans as he kissed her, her hands roaming all over him greedily, one slipping down his belly dangerously close to his length. When her hot palm closed around him and she made a happy noise at her discovery he half laughed, half groaned in distress. "I'm afraid I am not going to last if you touch me," he breathed into her, her eyes opening to meet his, a spark of amusement in the dark pupils. "Lie back, Sansa, and let me touch you."

When she was naked and laid out on the stripped back bed in all her glory, her hands entwined in the bars of the headboard to stop herself from fondling him, her face pink and her lips full and rosy, he could not proceed with care and reverence, treat her like the queen she was. He mapped and mouthed, grasped and pinched, growled into the soft rise of her stomach, nipped at the inside of her thighs as he parted them, dragged his bearded face and curls across every inch of her perfect skin.

Her cunt was like a pink intricate seashell washed up on the strand, gleaming and bare in the candlelight, a strip of fine red hair leading him south to her nub, fat as a pearl. He whimpered at the taste of her, so familiar, so delicious, his tongue exploring the shape of her once, enjoying the shuddering gasps that rose and fell from her chest, then he became a greedy savage, sucking her into his mouth, her hairless flesh pulled and plundered and savored like the rarest of morsels.

He studiously ignored the cramp in his balls, the chafe of the mattress against his ready cock not giving him any relief. He wanted to make her break before he entered her, the reward of her coming in his mouth before he took what was always his. He looked up at her writhing under every flick and suckle, her beautiful body, her heavy-lidded gaze and parted lips, the way she grasped the bed and held on, her hair matted ropes of copper and red in the lamplight. He was so hard he was in agony now, his cock needing her, the dream of her welcoming depths, the kiss of her womb against his tip.

He would make it up to her, tonight and every night if she would permit it, he would learn self-control, the language of her body would speak to him like it had when he had most needed to hear it, a walking dead man with no home, no family, only the enemy to keep him going. His fingers eased into her to sharpen her pleasure, and she cried out his name and bowed upwards, the surge felt around his hand, under his lapping tongue. She was like honey and spruce and lemon, so wet he slurped at her obscenely, so abandoned she was cursing, weeping, keening as she came for him, sucking his fingers deeper, rippling in his mouth, her hands snatching at his hair to bring him closer, riding his face.

At the grind of her against his lips and tongue, her spiraling cries, he couldn't hold it, rising in a rush, arranging her shaking legs where he wanted them and sheathing himself, her cunt a tight, resistant fit to his blade as he impaled her with great force. She bucked under him, eyes bulging then leaking tears, her shock muffled by his kiss of apology, then he knew nothing but the molten heat of her burning through every vein. His hips snapped, grinding and groaning like a soul in torment as she fluttered around him, stretched for him, yielded to absorb all he had to give. And he would give her all.

Her heels digging into his spine, her flaming hair twined around him like a net, hands clinging to his shoulders and her rolling, rearing, inviting it, the violence, the selfish male need to hold her down and fuck her and leave his mark. She was snarling, biting down on his throat as he spilled and collapsed all too soon, her tresses against his face, each gasp of air and jerk of his cock hollowing him out, nothing left but a husk with a mind as blank as fresh parchment.

When he kissed her blindly, he tasted tears on her cheeks, her hand cupping the back of his head to bring him down to her breast. Her thighs squeezed him closer in, making sure he was utterly spent before her legs lowered and she rested, her hammering heart under his ear slowing down to a peaceful thud, her hands toying with his hair, curling it around idle fingers. She made a purring sound of pure contentment, answered by his own sleepy rumble. Nothing needed to be said, the silence was enough. Kingdoms, alliances, enemies and subjects, plots and threats, none of it mattered. He was hers, and she was his.


End file.
